


Promise?

by Idreamofhazel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Post-Break Up, Smut, Smut-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel





	Promise?

When Sam left, the world around you crumbled; the rug underneath your feet had been cruelly and swiftly ripped away; a swift blow had been delivered, leaving you wheezing and doubled over with pain.

The pain was silent, a hurricane forming inside you, swirling with powerful bands that remained invisible to the outside world, but wrecked you inside, leaving no area of your psyche untouched. You carried on in your daily life, working, visiting friends, eating and showering, but in moments of loneliness–true, pressing solitude–the storm surfaced and crashed over you.

These moments were a necessary evil, needed to grieve and process the loss, but they hurt. They hurt like a knife in your stomach being slowly and incessantly twisted with no hope of it ever being removed. When you lay in bed crying yourself to sleep, you wondered if you would ever feel normal again.

Anger developed after sadness; Piercing sentences and thoughts had formed as you went through the stages of grief, choice words you needed Sam to hear, needed to scream at him; you wanted these words to hurt him like he had hurt you, you wanted them to be like knives in his back, reminding him of what he had done. But then there were moments when you couldn’t be angry with him, when the overwhelming emotion was why? When there was more concern for him than anything else. What happened to make him leave you? Was he ok?

You had no one to scream these words at. No one to ask. No way to get answers. Just a pen and paper, a silly journal that provided minimal aid at best in helping you understand what had happened to the happiest part of your life, what had made it all disappear.

Weeks turned into months, and gradually you found yourself happy again. With an echo of Sam in your heart and your inner strength, you got up in the mornings, went to work, and completed daily activities. The journal fell by the wayside, and you thought of Sam less and less. The pain was still present, but like a fading bruise, aching dully once in awhile. Life had found you again, and you lived it as you did before Sam. Questions were left unanswered and closure felt shaky, but you found a way to make the darkest part of your life a faint memory. You had moved on.

Then he showed up at your doorstep.

In the middle of dinner, with a half-chewed bite of food in your mouth and a lackadaisical smile on your face from a text you just read, you swung your door open. Everything–your heart, your breathing, the world around you–slammed to halt.

Sam Winchester stood in your doorway, every bit of the firm-around-the-edges hunter draped in soft flannel you remembered, but this time with a vein of sadness running through him. His shoulders dropped more, the lines on his face were more noticeable.

“Hey.” He barely looked at you.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He flinched at your words. Any conviction Sam had for being there faltered. He shrunk into himself more, taking a physical step back from the door.

“I’ll leave. I thought I’d– I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

He didn’t move. He still hoped some part of you would tell him to stay, but the forlorn look on his face showed that he didn’t believe you would.

“Why are you here?” You asked him like you wanted an answer.

His eyes shot up, the only sign of hope his body gave you. The rest of him still drooped, shameful and afraid. The kaleidoscope irises were still beautiful, that was fact, but you gave them a stony stare.

“I want to talk.”

You stood with your arms crossed, looked him up and down and tried to ascertain the realness of this moment. You didn’t feel in control–moments were being forced upon you, thoughts and feeling thrust into your mind, and your body made choices of its own volition.

“Ok.” Whether or not this choice was your body’s way of circumventing your heart’s emotional decisions was a toss up.

You moved out of his way, holding your breath as he crossed over your threshold. You sucked in your stomach as if he might brush up against it, but he was nowhere close. With Sam fully inside your home, you shut the door on any possibilities of forgetting this ever happened.

For the first time since you remembered, Sam was awkward, not knowing his place and having no hunter’s confidence. He looked rather small in his giant frame as he glanced around the room.

“You rearranged things,” he said.

You quietly scoffed. He was right, though. The living room area looked much different from before. The television was to the right of the front door under a window and the two small loveseats were positioned across from the tv and against the far wall. You had a new coffee table in the middle, plus a small desk on the left wall where you dumped your keys. The room felt more open and had been your attempt at feng shui when you need space and newness.

“You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I know, I–” He stopped, his words faltering as they fell out weak and thin. He looked up sheepishly and saw the reality of you standing before him. The full force of what he had done hit him in the gut, and his excuse was lost in the breath. “I’m sorry.”

The apology fell limp, and you scoffed. “You’re sorry? _Sorry?_ What? Is that a joke?”

He took your insult like a punching bag, but the hit shifted something inside him. He meant to be here. He meant his apology. “I am sorry. Sorry for everything, I never should have left you.”

Your mouth dropped open and your hands flew to your hips. “Really? You want to throw that at me now?”

His eyes went wide. “I’m not throwing–”

“No!” you shouted, jabbing your finger towards him, taking a step in his direction, “No! You don’t get to waltz in here after all this time and insert yourself back into my life, not after what you did. There was no word from you, nothing. One day you were here and the next–gone!”

You were almost in his face, yet he remained in place, still taking every hit you mustered.

“I know. I’m not, that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Then why are you here! Why in the hell would you show up now? I was doing just fine, you know? I was doing great and now…and now I’m–” you wiped tears from your eyes and choked back sobs, “What am I supposed to do with this! What am I supposed to do with you! You broke me,” your voice cracked as you jabbed a finger against his chest, “You took everything, everything I knew and ripped it away from me! So no! No! You can’t be here,” you shoved him, slapping him against the chest, “You can’t do this,” you hit him again, “not again!” With another shove, you broke down completely, delivering hit after hit, sobbing as you pushed him away.

He teetered backwards, moving as you delivered your blows. He didn’t try to stop you; he held you. You continued to pound against him, tears staining his shirt, hands bruising him. He waited for you to give him one last push, to wrench yourself from his arms, but you didn’t. You collapsed into him sobbing instead, your fists slowly resting against his chest, exhausted and all anger spent.

“I know I deserved that,” he whispered into your hair.

Taking fistfulls of his shirt, you cried, “Why did you leave?”

“I was scared, scared for you, what might happen to you. It was stupid and I’m so, so sorry.” He pulled his arms around you tighter, his lips falling to the top of your head and resting there.

He waited in silence for you to reject him.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

The words were whispered directly into his heart, the vibrations rattling against his sternum and shattering any pieces of his heart he had remaining.

He choked on his words, the syllables catching in his throat as he tried to respond. “No, I never stopped loving you.”

You lifted your head, cheeks stained and glistening sadly. “But you left. You let me go, let us go. What was I supposed to think? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything. I just wanted you to know, I had to find you again. I couldn’t leave it the way it was.”

Your lips began trembling again, and you sucked in air as you tried to hold back a sob.

Sam pulled away, your arms reaching out then falling as he retreated towards the door. “I’m sorry, I should have never left you, and I shouldn’t have come back. I’m messing things up.”

“You’re going to leave?” Your whole body was shaking.

“I think it’s best.”

You snapped at his cowardice, sadness dissipating as fast as it had come, replaced by anger again. “Oh fine! Just go! Get on with your life! Don’t ask me what I want. You didn’t care the first time, why should you now!”

You didn’t care that you were screaming again, that you sounded crazy. You wanted to hurt Sam, to make him feel some ounce of your pain, hoping in some twisted way it might make him want to stay.

He didn’t return your rage. He made you feel like your response had been reasonable. He knew he deserved everything you would throw at him, and that he didn’t deserve to be here anymore. But he had to ask.

“What do you want then?”

You had a response ready for him. “I wanted you to never leave me! I want you to go if you’re going to go, and never come back. And if– and if you’re going to stay, then dammit! Stay! Don’t you ever leave again!”

Your shouts reverberated in the silence before words fell quietly from Sam’s lips. “I won’t,” he said.

You opened your mouth to yell again, but stopped and closed it when you realized what he said. You wanted to believe him, to have everything be that simple, but you were scared to give him your heart again. “You won’t?” you asked, your voice small.

He stepped towards you, brushing his hands against your arms, tenderly holding on. He shook his head, lips brushing yours, and that contact was enough. You dove into together, his lips crashing against yours, your bodies closing in on each other.

You sucked in his kiss like it was the first gasp of air you’d had in months, awakening you to the reality of Sam. He was back, he was with you, and he wanted you. And god, how you needed him. You grasped at his arms, clawing into the fabric of his shirt, tugging and pulling him closer. His hands dug into your back, smashing your bodies together, taking every second spent apart and crushing them together in a single moment. His lips moved against yours hungrily, mixing in the salt of your tears as they ran down your cheeks, anger, sadness, and relief bursting through in one second.

You barely took time to breathe; you were each other’s air and you had been suffocated for months. You gasped as his lips ravaged your face, and you pushed against him, moving him towards the tiny sofa behind him. His knees hit the arm rest, but you didn’t stop. You tugged at his shirt, pulling the sleeves off his shoulders. He removed his hands from you long enough only to remove the plaid, and with his hands absent, his lips moved down your neck, greedily sucking, remembering every part of you he had missed.

His shirt was tossed to the side and his hands returned, this time at the button of your pants, fervently working them open. His fingers against the bare skin of your stomach sent a fire through your body, and you kicked off the jeans, wasting no time in getting your hands on him, working his pants open. He pulled at the hem of your shirt, lifting it off over your head and dropping it to the floor.

When his eyes returned to you, he paused, his breath as heavy as his gaze as he roamed over your half-naked figure. Every raw emotion and gnawing need was on display, the effects of heartbreak evident on every inch of both your bodies. He slowly ran his hands down your arms, his fingers tugging deliciously on your skin before moving back up, ghosting over your shoulders and your collarbone until they found your breasts. He touched them delicately, sweeping down the edge of your bra.

As the moment slowed into solemn appreciation, you looked up to his face and saw tear lines down his cheek, a fresh one just escaping and running over where his dimple should be. You placed your hand on his cheek, swiping the tear with your thumb, and he lifted his face. You smiled and his forehead fell against yours as his arms wrapped around you, pulling your warm bodies together. He kissed you again, this time slowly and deeply, lips tugging and teeth dragging gently. You knew where this was headed; the want was slowly building, the physical ache growing stronger, returning from dormancy. You stopped for air, and before Sam could begin kissing you again, you floated your hand down to his and held it, stepping back to lead him.

“Bedroom,” you said, and he followed behind you, never letting go of your hand as you walked together.

Inside your room, you turned and walked backwards towards the bed. Your knees hit the edge and you climbed gracefully atop the mattress, allowing Sam to guide you back towards the headboard. Soon he hovered over you, eyes peering through messy strands of hair, eager and sad at the same time, sorry for what he had done to you and ready to make it right. In a silent moment where your eyes were locked and the connection was all the communication you needed, you shed the rest of your clothing, exposing yourself to each other finally, laying bare the truth and unveiling the significance of the moment. You were becoming one again.

Sam remembered everything about you, every touch that made you sigh and ask for more, every scar and freckle on your skin, the shape and feel of your soft skin under his fingertips, all of it adding together to make perfection. The apartment may have changed, the insides rearranged and reordered, but your body was built the same; it moved under him like it had a year ago, and your voice in his ears as he filled you sounded just as heavenly. And when you were both finished, you drew close to him, back to stomach, his arms wrapped around you, his chin at the top of your head, the most familiar position to the both of you. Lying this way–knees tucked into each other, sticky thighs and arms tugging, finding comfortable rest with the movements of your breathing–made everything shift into place, and Sam forgot the reasons he’d used to justify leaving you.

He didn’t know if you had fallen asleep yet, but he had to say it one more time. He’d probably say it for years to come, every chance he got, never feeling like he could say it enough or make it up to you, but trying anyway. “I love you. I’ll always love you, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting you go again, ever.”

Your eyes had been wide open, body sated, but still wary of what the morning would bring. At Sam’s words, you relaxed; they were everything you hoped and needed to hear, a final reassurance to help you settle back into this familiar reality. “You promise?”

“I promise, I won’t let go.”


End file.
